Peace and Quiet
by Master Maple
Summary: Two antisocial members of Squad 7 form an unlikely bond based on the search for a little peace and quiet. A collection of oneshots featuring Marina Wulfstan and Nils Daerden. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

To Marina, the militia's mess hall was a vast sea of noise. Pointless chatter mingled with the clatter of knives and forks, Largo's booming laugh sounding clearly over it all. She scowled in frustration at the thought of having to sit at one of the crowded, boisterous tables. The Lieutenant might even make her _talk_ with them, and the thought of enduring empty conversation for at least twenty minutes, three times a day, every day for the remainder of the war made her long for the silence of the woods. She might have gone outside to eat, but Captain Varrot had found her perched on the barracks roof with her dinner last night and lectured her fiercely about how important it was for the squad to eat together. "Unit cohesion, Sharpshooter Wulfstan." She'd said, as if those magic words would send Marina skipping into the mess hall like Edy for another round of interminable discussion.

Someone behind her-Rosie, by the sound of it-nudged her in the back and demanded to know why she was holding up the lunch line. Glumly, she trudged through the boisterous landscape, eyes and ears engaged in a futile search for some small pocket of quiet. She roamed aimlessly between the tables, her heart sinking lower with each step.

And then, against all odds, she found a place of (relative) silence.

That lancer from Randgriz, Daerden, Nils Daerden, was seated at a table in the back-left corner of the room. He sat alone, and it seemed as though the chatter was slightly muted around his table. Marina supposed that it was the way he grimaced at the table, looking as though he was in the very depths of hell. Ah, so he hated idle chatter, too.

Perhaps it was true what they said, about misery loving company. More to the point, his table was the quietest it was likely to get in the mess hall, and if she sat there Sergeant Melchiott wouldn't try to cajole her into sitting with everyone else. Of course, she'd still have to sit with him, but there was quite a lot of space at the table, and at this point Marina would take whatever the fates were willing to give her.

She walked up to the table, eyes fixed on the floor, and sat down as quickly as she could, well away from the Lancer. Nils glanced up at her, a warning flashing in his eyes, but she coolly returned his glare and stayed silent. Eventually he looked back to his plate, satisfied that she wasn't going to talk his ear off, and resumed his work demolishing a double-helping of roast pork.

Marina picked away at her food as the minutes ticked by, until she cleaned her plate and felt the noise start to decrease. She looked up and saw the rest of Squad 7 eagerly filing out of the mess hall, off to kill time in their own ways for the rest of the afternoon. Marina set her food to one side (she considered grabbing some tidbits for Hans, but feeding pork to another pig seemed too cruel) and waited. Finally there was blessed silence, and Marina closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, savoring the fact that she could hear herself think again.

She opened her eyes and found Nils scraping his plate clean. For an awkward moment, their eyes met, but Marina quickly stood and looked away, heading out the door without another word. She mulled over her relatively peaceful lunch as she headed across the parade ground, towards the woods. It could have gone worse, she reflected, relaxing slightly as she entered the darkness of the forest. At least Nils had been quiet. There were worse things than having to sit at his table every day, and he hadn't tried to talk to her. Yet.

God, what a nightmare that would be.

AN: _Pretty short, this one. I'm going on vacation, but I'll add more chapters as soon as I get back. I just think this is a pretty cool idea, and I was excited with the announcement of VC4. As always, tell me what you think, either through PM or review. Cheers!_

 _Maple_


	2. An Interruption

Nils had always been good at protecting his territory. He had lived his life as a succession of back-alley, bloody-knuckle brawls, fighting like a cornered animal with chains, broken bottles, a loose brick, or whatever else was to hand, his raw ferocity driving others to first fear, then respect him. He had never ceded an inch of ground, even at gunpoint. A dozen men had been unable to drive him out. He was unassailable.

Except, of course, for the dark-haired sniper girl who'd set up shop at his table.

She'd simply wandered over one day and taken a seat down the end of the table. He'd shot her a look, hoping to scare her off, but she'd simply stared coolly back at him until he was forced to shrug and return to his meal. They'd tried to ignore each other, keeping their eyes on their respective plates and staying silent. It had been fine, for a little while. But now he faced a problem.

The salt was down Marina's end of the table, well out of his reach. And the stew they were serving was so crushingly bland that Nils could hardly bear to take a bite. He looked up at the sharpshooter as she picked at her food, mentally weighing up the awkwardness of speaking versus the quality of the meal. He looked around at the bustling mess hall, the tables crammed with people engaged in pointless conversation. He'd been able to escape the noise at this table, but what if the sniper turned out to be talkative, just waiting for an opening? Then the floodgates would be open, and Nils would have nowhere left to go.

He reached for the salt, leaning over the table and stretching his arm out. It was _just_ beyond his grasp. If he reached a little further…

"What are you doing?"

He started slightly at the unexpected voice. He looked up to see the sniper looking at him with one eyebrow raised, an expression of slightly confused annoyance on her face. Nils sank back into his seat, doing his best to remain composed. _Stay focused. Don't look weak, or they'll think they can browbeat you into backing down._

"Um…" he began, looking for some terse but tactful method of both explaining himself and shutting down any further conversation. "Salt" he replied, motioning towards the shaker by Marina's elbow.

She looked askance at him for a few moments further, then returned to her meal as if nothing had happened. Nils shrugged, grateful that the situation hadn't gotten any worse. He was surprised when he felt something bump against his elbow. The sniper had slid the shaker down the table to him. He glanced up, only to find his eyes meeting hers. He nodded to her in thanks, and she coolly returned the gesture before she returned to her food. Neither of them spoke again. Lunch went on in silence.

It wasn't the worst thing in the world, Nils had to admit.

He looked up in annoyance, feeling a hand on his shoulder, only to find Rourke, one of his men, looking down at him. He shook hands with Nils, leaning in slightly.

"Boss-" he began. Nils held up a hand to stop him, realizing that Rourke and him were getting some curious looks from the 7s, no doubt wondering what Nils was doing talking with someone from another squad. Marina had no doubt heard the word "Boss", and Nils could feel her gaze on the back of his neck.

"Watch it. Not _here_." He growled, tilting his head towards their audience and motioning towards the parade ground. Nils quickly cleaned his plate, and the two stepped out into the deserted square. Nils pulled out a cigarette, which Rourke obediently lit. He took a drag and walked side by side with Rourke.

"Interesting news?" he began, silently rebuking Rourke for his lapse in discretion. The burly militiaman hunched his shoulders and looked down at his boots as he spoke. "I just thought you'd be interested to know that some goons have been hassling the vendors at Nijmegan Market."

Nils was silent for a moment as he thought over the news. Someone was trying to muscle in on his protection business. "Do the _papers_ have any idea who these guys are?" he asked, taking another drag on his cigarette. Rourke shrugged. "Well, I heard-in the _papers_ , of course- that the gang who runs that area bumped into one of their associates, and found out that they were working for the Salomon Family."

So, Rourke and the others had caught one of the rival extortionists and found out that they were from the Darcsen Mob. Nils stopped walking and ground out the cigarette beneath his heel. Rourke waited for Nils to give orders.

Eventually, Nils made his decision. "Y'know, a couple of guys doing stuff like that might end up in a bad way." He began, his tone deceptively casual. "Next thing you know, two or three of 'em end up dead in the river, and another guy winds up lying in an alley in the Darcsen Quarter with his knees broken."

Rourke nodded and began to pace back to the dining hall with Nils. "Say, the Darcsen guys are well-armed. It could be dangerous to start trouble with them." Nils grunted in agreement, an idea forming in his mind. "Good point. You know what the biggest problem with places like this is? Armories. With all these new rifle designs rolling out, all the old gear just sits on the shelves and rusts." He shot Rourke a meaningful sideways glance. "Then a bunch of opportunistic crooks come by and grease someone's palm with a few ducats, and then all those Mags M1s and GSRs just walk right off the shelves. God knows what gangs could do with that kind of firepower."

A light went on in Rourke's eyes as he imagined the possibilities, and he broke into a broad smile as he shook Nil's hand and turned to leave. "Yeah, all those guns on the streets. What a tragedy." He said, and started to laugh as Nils went inside to go back to his lunch.

 _AN: How's that, guys? I'm just trying to show how Nils sees Marina's intrusion into his usual routine, as well as setting up an important part of his backstory. More chapters coming soon!_

 _As always, let me know what you think, and please review or pm if you have requests or suggestions._

 _See you soon!_


	3. Awkwardness and Articles

Marina had been surprised at how easy it was to kill a man. She'd expected some kind of shock, some internal realization that the _crack_ of her rifle had just violently ripped a fellow human being from her plane of existence. But all she felt was the kick of the stock, and the heat of the barrel when she worked another round into the chamber. Marina wondered if she should be disturbed that she found finishing off a wounded deer more difficult than killing a fellow human being with a face and a name. But then again, the deer never shot back. And Marina had never really liked _people_ very much.

She didn't have time for these rambling thoughts now, lining up her sights on an Imperial officer, bellowing orders to his men, oblivious to the fact that Marina was practically eye-to-eye with him. The sniper took a deep breath and calmed herself, silencing the babble of her thoughts, blocking out the noise around her until it was just her, her rifle and the officer-no, the _target_. He had no name or personality. He may as well have been a plywood cutout with a bullseye on it. She filled her mind's eye with the mountain spring near her cabin, the water perfectly still.

The world froze. Marina breathed in, leaned up to the sights. Her finger moved to the trigger. In her mind, a drop of water hit the pool, sending out small ripples. Marina fired. The gun kicked slightly, though she didn't feel it, watching intently through her sights as the officer clutched one fist against the fresh wound under his arm, the force of the bullet sending him sprawling backwards. He fell. He lay still.

"Nothing personal" she muttered, coming up into a kneeling position as she overlooked the ruins of Vasel. She'd never liked cities, noisy and crowded, paved with cold stone, yet the ruined buildings all around left a touch of pity in her heart for the people who'd lived here. Baffling as it was to her, they'd built homes and lives in Vasel. Now they were just shattered brick crushed underfoot by the Imperial army.

She didn't have time for thoughts like these. She worked the bolt in a smooth _one-two_ rhythm, using the action to clear her head of useless thoughts. She was still getting used to the differences from her breech-loading hunting rifle, which she'd quickly learned was obsolete by at least two generations. She didn't deny that it sometimes threw her off.

She moved to take aim again, raising the scope to her eye as she picked another target in officer's crimson. She relaxed, held her breath. The world froze. And then the cobblestones seemed to leap up from their places as some mighty invisible hand sent her flying. She slammed into the cobblestones with a pained groan, sprawled on the ground in a daze.

She did her best to raise her head and shake off her double vision. She looked up to see what had sent her sprawling, only to find an Imperial shocktrooper moving towards her at a crouch. He must have slipped behind the rest of the squad somehow.

Marina tried to call out for help, only to find the rest of the squad distracted. Her throat was choked with brick dust, her head spinning too fast to call out anything coherent. She groped through the rubble, her eyes fixed on the approaching foe.

"My rifle…Where's…." she muttered, eventually settling for a hefty piece of brick from the rubble. It wouldn't be enough, she knew, but she would go down fighting. She raised the brick as the soldier approached. He froze and raised his machine gun. Marina fought to move, lunge at him or crawl away, but her muscles refused to obey. She sighed and waited for the end. At least death would probably be nice and peaceful. Quiet, for sure. Lonely, but she was fine with that. She'd never been very good with people.

And then there was a _woosh_ that hurt her ears, and for a split second she saw a glowing, dart-like object go hurtling into her view. Then the ground trembled, the cobblestones jumped up again, and Marina was rolled onto her stomach by another push of the giant hand.

Black rings began to close in around her vision. She felt herself start to drift off, suddenly numb to the shattered masonry jutting painfully into her ribs and the cuts and bruises she was covered with. She noticed a lump of wood-wait, no, a rifle butt- protruding into her frame of view.

 _Oh, that's where it went._ She reached out and clutched it with trembling hands, feeling a hand on her shoulder and a baritone growl. _A medic. It was something about a medic._ As Marina drifted off, she wondered which member of the squad had been foolish enough to get themselves hurt.

* * *

Marina gritted her teeth with every painful step as she entered the canteen. The doctors had tried to keep her in bed, but Marina would be damned if she'd lie in that cold, quiet hospital any longer. They said she'd be good for the fight in a day or two, but Marina missed the woods, even if the only way she could experience them was to stand by the perimeter fence and look out into the forest that surrounded it.

She braced herself to tune out the usual melee of chatter, but was stunned as the chatter ebbed away when she entered. Then, even more shocking, someone-that Oscar kid, who was always hovering around her nervously on the range like he wanted something-started _clapping_ , and soon the whole mess hall was clapping. A few people even whistled. Marina flushed, rooted to the spot with shock as the squad continued their thunderous applause.

She didn't _know_ these people. Why on earth were they applauding? She'd messed up, gotten hit, and forced someone to risk their lives to rescue her. She hadn't done anything noteworthy. Or maybe it wasn't praise. Maybe they were _relieved_. Now _that_ was an alien notion. She'd pushed the whole Squad away with silence and feigned ignorance. Why did they care? And why did they keep glancing at that Daerden fellow she'd been-

Oh _._

 _Oh._

She'd have a hard time living _this_ down. She genuinely considered turning around and leaving. Even her sickbed was better than the awkwardness she was surely in for. He'd try and _talk to her_ for sure. But then she saw Daerden make a palms-down gesture, and the mess hall eventually went quiet. Marina stood there in silence, until the 7s concluded that she had nothing to say, as usual, and returned to their own conversations.

Nervously, she looked over at Nils, but the lance just glanced up at the feeling of her gaze, then shrugged and returned to his meal. That settled it. The message was clear; _No, we are NOT going to start chatting._

Marina supposed that was good enough for her and quickly sat down, keeping her eyes fixed on her food. _Like old times_ she thought, snorting inwardly at the nauseatingly trite concept, but the faintly surprised look Nils gave her told her that her snort hadn't been as inward as she'd thought.

For a moment, they locked eyes, and then Nils suddenly moved his elbow and sent a copy of the _Randgriz Times_ sliding down towards her.

"You've been out of action for three days." He muttered. "Thought you'd want to catch up."

"Oh." Was the only reply Marina could muster, but Nils just took it in stride and went back to his double-portion. Marina idly flicked through the headlines, careful to keep her sigh focused inward at the news that the Imperials still occupied the vast majority of the Kloden Wildwood, including her home.

She would have pushed it away, but after Vassel, cities had piqued her interest. They were strange and exotic places, all cold stone and dark alleys, and Marina was unable to fathom them. How they ran. What the occupants did for a living. What kind of things happened there? She supposed a flip through the paper wouldn't do any harm, and she'd already eaten her fill, so she began to work her way through the articles.

The pages were dog-eared, she noticed. Some of the longer or more obscure words were underlined with black ink, and the same color showed in the margins where someone had been writing down some sort of laundry list of the underlined words, sounding them out, listing possible definitions with question marks, some with a checkmark written next to them, some crossed out with other ones written down below.

That changed when Marina got to the _Crime_ section. For the most part, it was the same old thing, words underlined, sounded out, definitions checked or scribbled into oblivion. But there were also sentences carefully circled in red. Notes jotted down in crimson ink with a far steadier hand, just occasional wordss in the margins until Marina found an article on the second page:

 _STRING OF MURDERS IN RANDGRIZ_

 _Possible resurgence of gang war, police sources say:_

 _By Adam Koehler_

 _A spat between two street- gangs may be behind a brutal string of murders in downtown Randgriz last night that left two young men hospitalized and another three dead with a sixth individual still missing, according to Randgriz Police Chief Olek Stanton._

 _Police are still investigating the scenes, with the three men all having been found hog-tied and shot dead in their vehicles, which police believe to have been carjacked by their killers. The three vehicles were found spread out throughout Randgriz's Tumblestone District, including one vehicle that was left in the center of Nijmegan Market and set ablaze during the night. The two men found injured are currently in serious but stable condition._

 _"There are a number of possibilities, some gang related" Chief Stanton responded when pressed for details, deflecting the press with his usual ham-fistedness. "It's certainly possible that these men are gang-affiliated. But I personally find it unlikely that this was a formal decision made by the leadership of these organized crime groups."_

 _Captain Vansel, head of the Organized Crime Unit, proved much more forthcoming._

 _"At this time, I am of the belief that this is a skirmish that got out of hand. It was likely a warning by the Tumblestone Mob to the Meizelmans not to step on their turf." When asked if the conflict was likely to go further, Vansel merely responded with "No comment."_

 _This string of attacks is further proof of the rise of the Tumblestone Mob, one of Randgriz's youngest organized crime groups. There is heavy speculation amongst the Randgriz Police Department as to the extent of its operations and the identity of it's-_

"-Mind if I read this?" Nils growled, snatching up the paper before Marina had a chance to respond. He returned to his meal, but his nonchalance seemed forced as he studiously ignored Marina's piercing gaze.

She still remembered the man who'd come to see him. Who'd called him "Boss."How Nils had looked agitated as he whispered something to him, and then stepped outside for ten minutes. When he'd come back, he'd been quiet-well, quieter than he usually was. Marina had noticed how he'd idly tap his fork against the tray, making some kind of rhythm as he stared out the window. How he'd always pull the pack of cigarettes from his sleeve with a crisp _snap_ , followed by the metallic _click_ of his lighter, a nice, steady mantra, always timed exactly one after the other. _Snap-click_. How he'd always cough after he'd wiped his mouth. He studiously avoided doing any of those things when he'd returned. And she'd gotten pretty good at seeing the difference between his usual indifference and _feigned_ indifference. A slight tension in the shoulders, movements more constrained, and the feeling that he was watching her carefully, sizing her up when she wasn't looking.

He was doing it now, too. That settled it. He was _hiding_ something. And she decided that she would find out what. It would give her something to do, at least. Something besides the endless training and avoiding Ted's ridiculous attempts to make her laugh.

She realized that she'd been staring at Nils a bit too intently, and now his gaze was matching hers. His eyes traveled along her body, but it wasn't the same as when other soldiers did the same thing. He seemed more interested in the best way to break her arm than how well she filled out her fatigues.

"Something to say?" he growled, and Marina had to hold back a noise of surprise. She wanted to get up and leave, but his gaze seemed to hold her pinned, like a deer frozen in her rifle sights. The moment seemed to stretch to an eternity, until she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind.

"That was a good shot with the lance."

His expression turned from wary to surprised in an instant, before he shifted his features back to the usual expression. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"Those lances must be hard to aim." She continued, spewing something out before she could stop herself. She felt sick. She'd come here to eat in peace, and now here she was making the same idle talk she so despised.

Nils seemed to be undergoing the same thought process, seeming surprised at himself when he nodded. "Yeah, it really kicks. Doesn't fly straight, either."

"It must be heavy." _What are you doing?_ Her brain screamed. _Just shut up and go back to eating!_

But Nils seemed too surprised to feel annoyed at the disturbance.

"Well, yeah. But you get used to it. You've just gotta stay…Firmly grounded."

"Well, with all the food you eat…" Marina replied, still on autopilot, but when her brain caught up with her she nearly fell off the bench in shock. _What had she done?_

Nils' eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot up, but his voice was calm. "Was that a joke?"

Marina wanted to crawl under the table and hide. "I don't know. I think so?"

Nils just crossed his arms and made a _huh_ sound. Something about his expression made Marina continue. Her brain begged her to stop, but she was on a suicide run now. She fought to keep her voice grounded. "You're supposed to laugh."

Nils actually froze for a moment. "Nope. Can't do it. I thought it was funny though. Really."

"Oh." Her brain finally caught up with her. "Oh, good."

Nils had a strange look in his eye as he looked back at her. "I see. Nice joke."

"Okay."

"Alright then."

Marina bolted down her meal and left. Perhaps her sickbed wasn't looking so bad after all. She'd probably destroyed her fragile… She settled on the word _truce_. No more _live and let live_. At least this would make it easier to find out whatever Nils was hiding.

As she turned to go, wracked with horror at what she'd just said, she never noticed the young lancer stay seated at the table, staring at his empty tray in shock. By the time he threw a confused glance in her direction, she was long gone.

And she certainly didn't see him grin slightly in spite of himself.

* * *

 **AN** : _Well, there you have it, folks! I'm back in the game! I'm kinda fumbling my way through how to get Nils and Marina to thaw, and doing my best to keep the plot moving forward. * **Cue ominous music** *._

 _Anyway, on a completely unrelated note, I really have to recommend Move Pen Move's awesome fic "Tread Lightly." It takes some work to get into, but It's well worth it! The characters are interesting, it shows us the war from a new perspective, the battle scenes are harrowing, and their knowledge of armored warfare and tank design puts my own limited knowledge of military history to shame (then again, I specialize in a different field of WW2 history.) Long story short, go support Tread Lightly! Follow, favorite, leave a review. If you don't want to review my fic, or don't have the time, take the time you would have saved and give them the courtesy of feedback. Although, if you wish to review my fic, don't let me stop you! God knows I'm lonely enough as it is..._

 _Oh, and tell them Maple sent you! Actually, don't. They won't have a clue what it means. Just...Just check it out. And tell me what you thought of this chapter!_

 _Umm..._ Ciao!


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